


Friends and Familiar Faces

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friendship, M/M, Other, Sex Talk, Swimming Pools, introductions, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:59:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: The Avengers pool, James is given to understand, is like….a couple of little pools and then a pool that’s sort of like…for lengths or whatever. He knows there’s one that can be modified like a training course in upstate New York, where the compound is. He hasn’t been there yet, given how far away from Brooklyn it is, and Steve prefers to behome-home instead. New York State is nice, but Brooklyn is where he belongs.This is why James is fairly surprised when, on stopping on another floor, they get out of the elevator, go through a door and…find…“Uh,” he says. “Did you guys invent matter transporters and not tell anybody?”





	Friends and Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Before you read this next chapter, I’d like to remind readers of a couple of things. Firstly, James is 21. Steve is 42. They are both consenting adults and happy together and the age difference is fictional and a plot device because I wanted to have a go at writing it BUT
> 
> I know there’s been a lot of discourse lately on how weird celebrity relationships with very young people are, and I want to let you know that _I know_ and I agree. And I’m not talking about Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones-Douglas who were 56 and 31 respectively when they married, I’m taking like Celine Dion and Rene Angelil levels of fuck-no (he became Celine’s manager when he was 38 and she was 12, and they went public with their relationship when she turned 19), Woody Allen and Soon-Yi Previn types of possible grooming (as she was just 8 when they met), or the current Drake and Millie Bobby Brown controversy (as I write this, Millie Bobby Brown is 14 and Drake is 31). I just want y’all to be aware that I’m not condoning relationships of an unhealthy (and, in some cases, illegal and damaging) nature. 
> 
> A’ight, on with regularly scheduled programming.

Fresh off an amazing video-call the night before, James wakes satisfied and blushes at his ceiling as he remembers. Steve’s gorgeous melted-chocolate voice, the way he always manages to coax James into saying the things he wants to say, no matter how difficult it might seem when he starts, and the way he never makes fun of anything that means something to James.

He lies in his bed and reminisces for a few minutes, given that his alarm hasn’t gone off yet. He’d rather have Steve with him, of course he would, but Steve’s on duty and James felt like being back in his apartment the last few days. He doesn’t need the space but sometimes he likes to have it. When his alarm does go off, though, and he picks up his phone to turn it off, he finds a text from Steve.

 _You too. Sleep well_  
00:17  
................................ _And omg I really love the_  
................................ _projection dome. See you_  
................................ _tomorrow! Xx_  
................................ 00:17  
_Rise and shine, have_  
_a good day at work,_  
_and bring trunks!_  
6:15

Bring…trunks? It’s the weekend so maybe Steve wants to go swimming but they usually-

Oh, they usually swim naked if it’s just the two of them, which means it must not be just the two of them? Oh man, wow, okay. So he sends a message back to see if Steve will elaborate.

 _Rise and shine, have_  
_a good day at work,_  
_and bring trunks!_  
6:15  
................................ _???_  
................................ 7:30  
.......A  
ଘ( ͡~ ͜ ʖ ͡° )  
....=☆=  
7:31

How…like _how_ is James’ life a life that surprises him with this kind of ridiculousness? Twenty-one year old James is dating a supersoldier from the forties who’s twice his age and knows how to send smug, custom kaomoji via text instead of providing actual answers.

He packs trunks but doesn’t pack his toothbrush. Their relationship is three and a bit months old now (if you count it from their first official date and not just that time _Steve Rogers picked him up from a coffee bar for a fuck omg_ ) and James is now aware that Steve keeps a duplicate set of sex toys, what turned out to be a _second_ designer bathrobe (the sneak), and a spare toothbrush at his warehouse conversion, the same way he does at the tower. James does pack lube (he’s got a spare for when he’s staying the night elsewhere but one that lives in his nightstand at home because he never wants the phrase “where’s the lube” to be followed by anything except “right here” ever again, thanks, especially now that the person asking is Steve) but, as well as it being three months since they started officially dating (and almost a whole month since Steve said he loved James!!!) it’s also a Friday. James should manage to finish early today, so he’s going up to Steve’s floor when he’d usually take lunch. As far as he thought, though, the plan was to have lunch, maybe mess around a little, maybe have a drink with Sam, and then go to Brooklyn, because fall’s setting in and it’s James’ favorite time of year, so Steve'll go out and get hot pastries and warm drinks and sit inside and watch the leaves turning pretty colors.

Besides which, Steve has filled his underground pool and James can’t wait. But he also knows Steve’s got a pair of trunks for him at the conversion, so why does James need to bring some with him?

~

It’s a question that goes unanswered until Steve answers the door that afternoon in knee-length trunks, under a bathrobe, with a towel slung around his neck.

“Hi,” he says, beaming, and he pulls James forward to kiss him hello.

He tastes like strawberries and something else, and James licks his lips when they part.

“Hi,” he says. “What were you eating?”

“I had a smoothie,” he says. “Milk, strawberries, honey. You want one?”

James can also smell _food_ , but it looks like there’s a tray of it. Burgers, hot dogs, like a jug of juice or something?

“What’s happening?” he says.

Steve just smiles at him.

“Pool party,” he says, and James isn’t ready for that, no way? “You, me, Sam, and Wanda. Sound good?”

That’s…a little more acceptable, James supposes? He can deal with that a little more?

“I,” he says.

Steve looks confused, and then abashed.

“Wow, sorry,” he says. “I didn’t, man, I didn’t even think about it. You don’t have to - if you want we can just go upstairs, you don’t gotta change, you know? Or we don’t even have to-”

“No, it’s,” James says, but then he scrapes his teeth over his lip. “I want to meet Wanda-”

“Shirt!” Steve says, and then seems to realize you’re supposed to like…use context maybe? “Sorry - if you want, you can wear shorts and a shirt, we can just hang out. We don’t have to do any swimming. I remember how it feels to not want people to look at you. I thought maybe things’d be easier if you can shove something in your mouth during awkward silences though.”

James isn’t sure if he’s insulted. Or turned on.

“I mean, that’s what _I_ do. Why’d you think so many of our dates revolved around food?”

James snorts. Okay, he’s not insulted.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says, “don’t fret about it, okay? You don’t wanna go, I’ll tell ‘em we don’t feel like it. I ain’t on duty, them either. We can just-”

“No, it’s,” James says, because actually it’d be nice to sit by a pool (and super freaking cool to use an Avengers’ pool, duh). “I want to but can I…” Steve waits, looks at him. This is dumb - they fuck on a regular basis, why is this so hard? “Yeah, can I borrow a shirt please?”

He happens to be looking at Steve when the words come out of his mouth, and Steve gives him that _‘aw, honey’_ expression - head tilted, soft smile, eyes half closed. Content, kinda.

“Sure,” he says, gentle, “I’ll go get one.”

It doesn’t take him long to come back with one, and James sees that he’s not only carrying a shirt, he’s also now carrying a lot of terrycloth, and wearing a white tee himself, a pair of blue-mirrored aviators on his face and another pair - black mirrored - hooked into the collar of his shirt. 

“Okay?” he says.

James takes the spare shirt, grateful. And he points at Steve, wearing the t-shirt where he wasn’t before. It’s…really nice to have somebody to back him up all the time, somebody he knows he can ask to take his side.

“Thanks,” he says. 

These guys look good as a by-product of what they do for a living. He can just about deal with getting naked in front of Steve but taking his shirt off in front of three ripped Avengers? Not so much.

He goes to tug his own shirt over his head, buttons be damned, and he’s got the hem in his hands, lifted up maybe six inches, before he realizes Steve is staring at the strip of skin he’s bared.

“Sorry,” Steve says, not sorry in the slightest, when he notices James has seen him looking. “Go ahead, don’t let me stop you.”

James laughs a little self-consciously.

“I’m gonna have to get in my trunks too,” he says, but Steve just nods very slowly.

“Mmhm,” he says and, oh.

It’s weird, James thinks, that he can spend hours with Steve’s dick in his ass and yet somehow be all hung up when Steve wants to watch him take off his shirt. It’s like it’s too much - although it’s not, not at all. It’s like Steve just looking at him like that is somehow even more than everything else, somehow deeper and stronger and makes him blush harder and everything.

“If it helps,” Steve says, “I’ll take mine off too and we can get dressed together.”

James looks at him, looks him up and down and very much doesn’t hide the fact that his gaze lingers below Steve’s waist, and then kind of sags.

“Why’d you have to say we’d go meet your friends?” he says.

Steve laughs, stands up and turns his back to give James some privacy.

“Sorry, honey,” he says, turns his head just enough that James can see his lashes and the tip of his nose, the sharpness of one cheekbone. “After, though, we can go back to mine and try the pool there. Sound good?”

 _“Yeah,”_ James says, before he’s even really thought about voicing his enthusiasm - yeah the underground pool Steve showed him a few weeks back, that looks like it’s been carved out of a cave and only has lights under the water and has a waterfall feeding it, yeah, _yeah_ James wants to go ‘try’ that, for sure.

He gets changed as quickly as he can, feeling exposed because he standing in the middle of the biggest living room he’s ever been in in his life and the place is walled on one side with huge plate glass windows, but Steve doesn’t turn and look until James says that he can, and then he turns around like he’s remembered he’s left the oven on, surges towards James and _lifts_ him, James’ legs around his waist, hands under James’ ass.

James is so startled he doesn’t even have his eyes closed when they kiss, doesn’t even get his arms around Steve’s neck because he’s too busy grabbing at his shoulders so as not to fall - not that Steve would ever let him fall.

“Lunch every day is all well and good, James,” Steve says, his voice very low and very rough, “actually, I was gonna use some terrible pun about eating right there but I just changed my mind. I kinda really wanna fuck you - it’s been days.”

James bites his lip.

“We have to go upstairs.”

Steve rolls his eyes and then kisses James briefly, almost chaste, and lets him down.

“Fine, _mom_ ,” he says, and James scoffs.

“Whose idea was it!?” he says, but he’s grinning.

Steve goes over and gets the platter full of food and the jug of juice, and James shoves his bag against the wall and gets ready to leave with Steve.

“Actually,” Steve says, “it was Wanda’s.”

~

The Avengers pool, James is given to understand, is like….a couple of little pools and then a pool that’s sort of like…for lengths or whatever. He knows there’s one that can be modified like a training course in upstate New York, where the compound is. He hasn’t been there yet, given how far away from Brooklyn it is, and Steve prefers to be _home_ -home instead. New York State is nice, but Brooklyn is where he belongs. 

This is why James is fairly surprised when, on stopping on another floor, they get out of the elevator, go through a door and…find…

“Uh,” he says. “Did you guys invent matter transporters and not tell anybody?”

He’s in a tropical rain forest. A moment ago he was in Manhattan in early fall and now he’s surrounded by big, very green plants, the air is more humid, there’s bright sun and few clouds overhead, and he can hear running water.

Steve laughs softly, walks along a tiled white path in the undergrowth, and James follows.

“It’s holograms, temperature control and clever lighting,” Steve answers, “with sprinklers and a careful gardening schedule, scent diffusers…plus the environmental alteration Jarvis is in charge of.”

“I’m _inside_?” James says, and Steve glances back at him - James can see his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“I would’a thought you’d be more impressed if you were really outside.”

James rolls his eyes. 

It really feels like they’re walking through the middle of a rain forest in the middle of nowhere - no matter how much light comes through the trees, James can’t see windows or borders or anything. He catches glimpses of the _Sun_ , for goodness sake - still, Stark’s had the ability to disguise certain environments for years. It’s essentially very specific projection mapping, casting a specific image onto a specially created environment designed to take that specific projection. Make a block of white foam look like a chest of drawers, or a white curtain look like a flag. 

James guesses the ceiling must be high and white, potentially with lights behind it, and maybe the same for the walls? Maybe it’s fabric covered windows or maybe it’s straight up walls of light panels, but if you’d brought James in here asleep and woken him up, he’d have no idea he was inside, let alone however far above midtown they are currently. James starts to hear voices within a couple of minutes - probably less than that actually - and then Steve’s sweeping some of the foliage aside by using his body to walk through it, and there’s a really big bean-shaped pool of clear, blue water, in the middle of which Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton is floating on an inflatable pizza slice in purple shorts and black sunglasses, sipping something probably alcoholic from a pineapple-shaped mason-jar. 

Are you fucking kidding. Firstly, seriously, inflatable pizza but secondly, nobody said Clint Barton was going to be here!

Sam Wilson is not in the pool, sitting in a white tank and red shorts (as well as red flip flops) on a chair, at a table with an offset parasol, and Wanda ‘Scarlet Witch’ Maximoff is lying on a sun-lounger on the other side of the table, in a burgundy halter-neck one-piece, opaque sarong about her hips, a big floppy sun hat on her head, and oversized cat-eye sunglasses on her face. 

Hoooly shit James is out of his depth.

“Hey - food!” Sam says, and Clint and Wanda sit up and smile at Steve and then, like they’re on the same mechanism, they both turn their heads and look at James.

“Oh, hey, this is the kid?” Clint Barton says, pizza slice squeaking.

“Ohh!” Wanda Maximoff says, not quite a squeal. “This is James, how wonderful, I have been waiting to meet you!”

She gets up off the sun-lounger and pulls on a tie-front kaftan that matches her whole outfit, and then she’s coming towards-

_Shit, she’s coming towards them, curse his awkward bisexuality-_

She hugs Steve, smiling, gets her chin over his shoulder and squeezes him as he holds the food and drink out to the sides, and then she hugs James like that, too - close and tight - before taking a step back to look at him, one hand on James’ shoulder.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, “I should have asked, maybe you don’t like hugs!”

“Ah, no, it’s okay,” James says, and she beams, looks at him over her sunglasses. “I’m okay with hugs.”

“You are Steve’s young man!” she says. “He’s told us all about you, I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you - come, come sit with me.”

She has a nice accent and a lovely, warm smile, and she takes James by the hand and leads him over to the sun lounger, sitting him down nearest the head end so he can’t get away - no, that’s not fair, it puts him near to Sam as well, puts him in the right place for a conversation. Steve is there a moment later, placing the platter and the juice jug down. There are cups already out, and a couple of spare chairs, and Steve lifts the black mirrored sunglasses off his shirt and holds them out to James.

“Here,” he says. 

James takes them. _Ray-Bans,_ wow, okay.

“Thanks,” he says, put them on and then looks up. “I-I don’t have any sunscreen.”

“Don’t need it,” Clint Barton says amid splashing and squeaking as he makes his way over to the edge of the pool on his pizza-raft. 

“All simulated,” Sam tells him. “No UV, ‘cause we don’t particularly want melanomas.”

James frowns.

“How come you’re sunbathing?” he says to Wanda.

Wanda shrugs. 

“It’s nice to lie in the warm,” she says. “A Summer’s day any time we want it, with none of the risks!”

“It’s my fault,” Steve says, taking a seat after he grabs a burger - his sunglasses don’t have Ray-Ban on them, not on the lens or the frame, which means James is probably wearing Steve’s good pair. “Irish skin. I go red as a lobster in about twenty minutes.”

Wanda laughs.

“You turn back again in like half a day,” Sam says, pouring himself a drink. “Unless it’s really bad-”

“Oh, you mean like Australia?” Steve retorts.

Sam doesn’t snort his drink up his nose but it looks close.

“Australia?” James asks.

“He wears a helmet with no jaw,” Wanda tells him conspiratorially. “He looked like Homer Simpson for three days.”

“Har har,” Steve says. “Laugh at the guy who couldn’t shave for half a week.”

“He kept getting peels in his food,” Clint says, and everyone kind of looks a little queasy for a second.

“Man, I’m eating,” Sam says, picking up a hot dog.

They all have different sauces on, James sees. Some have onion. Some have cheese, there’s relish here and there. Did Steve make these?

“Man, say what you want about Daddy Rogers,” Clint says, “but the man knows how to hot a good dog.”

James blinks at quite a lot of that sentence.

“Don’t call me that,” Steve says. 

“Does _James_ call you that?” Clint smirks.

“I usually call him ‘oh God,’ actually,” James says, and then remembers that he’s not talking to Amy and turns bright red - he doesn’t even need a mirror to confirm it, because he can feel it.

There’s a stunned silence for a few seconds, and then Sam says “ugh” and Clint cackles.

“Well,” Wanda says, but she’s fighting a smile.

“Please pretend I didn’t say that,” James says, covering his face with his hands before he remembers not to get fingerprints on Steve’s Ray-Bans.

He can hear Steve laughing, and he takes his hand down to stick his tongue out.

“They get worse than this,” Sam tells Clint and Wanda, and Steve sighs. 

“Tell me how you met,” Wanda says, shoulder-checking James gently.

“You _know_ how we met,” Steve tells her.

“I’ve heard it from you, now let me hear it from James,” and then she looks at him, moves her sunglasses down to perch them on the end of her nose.

Her gaze is sharp and knowing and she’s perhaps ten years younger than Steve or thereabouts - it’s difficult to tell. What that means is, James is caught halfway between seeing her like an Avenger and seeing her like a co-conspirator.

“We,” James says, gaze sliding sideways to Steve for a moment, safe in the knowledge that nobody can see it behind mirrored lenses, “saw each other while I was at work.”

Her eyebrows go up.

“This is not the story I was told!” she says. “Steve told me you met in a coffee bar!”

James shrugs.

“Technically we did but I saw him at work first. He was gettin’ his tablet fixed.”

Wanda makes an interested noise.

“He was getting his tablet fixed!” she says. “And you met him later?”

“Couple days, yeah,” James says. “We saw each other while I was working and then we met by chance in a coffee bar and…”

He frowns, looks at Steve with his whole head this time. Steve is sitting with his elbow on the table, propping his head up with one hand.

“You may tell it however you please,” he says, in a manner that would be long-suffering, were it not for the smile - maybe his eyes are doing that sparkly thing but James can’t tell given that Steve’s wearing sunglasses.

James bites his lip, can feel himself smiling and knows he can get away with it because of the tiny little nod Steve gives him.

“Commander Rogers came in for the coffee but left with afternoon delight.”

Wanda’s mouth opens but she’s smiling, and Clint slams his pineapple down on the table in mock indignation.

“You told me and Nat you were dating the kid!” 

“I was by the time I told you!” Steve says, then looks up and squints as he thinks about it. “Just?” 

“I can’t believe we got replaced by a Stark Kid.”

“Clint,” Steve says, and Clint stops talking but James brain catches up to him a moment later.

“Replaced?” James says, and then _(!!!)_ “your secret sex buddies are the _Black Widow and Hawkeye!?”_

“I mean,” Steve says, “it’s not really a secret if you’re yelling about it.”

“He didn’t know?” Clint says.

“He didn’t know it was you two,” Steve answers. “Also, he’s not a ‘Stark Kid-’ ”

“I mean I kind of am, that’s the media nickname for the New Recruit Initiative?” 

Steve drops his head into his hands.

“Is there anything else anyone would like to disclose and/or argue about me,” he says, “or are we finished?”

“He loves Disney movies,” Wanda says.

“He puts too much garlic in his food and thinks he’s seasoned it well,” Sam says.

“He really likes when you-”

“No!” Steve says, cutting Clint off. “No, that conversation is a conversation to have in private.”

“You want me to swap tips with the kid?” Clint says, surprised.

“Firstly,” Steve says, “swapping implies mutual exchange for mutual implementation, and that’s a prospect you might want to run by James before you get all excited about it-” uh is Steve talking about a threesome with Hawkeye, is James awake? - “and secondly, he doesn’t need tips, he does fine by himself _but_ please don’t let me imply that you’re not highly skilled because I don’t need a photographic memory to remember that you are.”

“Are they having this conversation?” Sam asks. “Are they actually having this conversation in the middle of the day in front of all of us?”

“Four out of five of us are participating, darling,” Wanda says, resting her hand over his. “Live a little.”

Clint leans forward, toward Sam.

“I could show you if you-”

James laughs, snorts, covers his mouth with his hand.

“It was back when I needed the whole contact thing,” Steve says to Sam, “you knew about this.”

“I knew about it,” Sam says. “Knowing is different to hearing a blow by blow account.”

Steve presses his hand to his chest.

“Have I allowed any of them to provide you with actual details?” he says, just as Clint says, 

“Interesting choice of words.”

“James, if you would like to speak to Clint about his extensive knowledge of my body, and other stories,” Steve says, “we will arrange a time when we are not surrounded by close personal friends who have not slept with me.”

“But why am I not invited?” Wanda says, her dismay obvious, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“This is amazing, by the way,” James says. “When I was a kid, the tabloids were all over you guys. Like which of you was dating which and whether you all had post-mission orgies-”

“I want to say I don’t remember those headlines,” Sam says, “but I do.”

“-and it was true the whole time!”

Steve tilts his head from side to side.

“I mean,” he says. “Young Steve was a two-bit nobody who looked like a dirty mop on its tail.”

“Also an artist,” Clint says. “Aesthetics.”

Steve nods in acknowledgement. 

“You surround me with beautiful people, I can’t be held responsible. I’d never have had a _chance_ before the serum.”

“Not true for me, also might check with Nat about that, she used to say otherwise,” Clint says, but Steve waves him off.

“Listen,” he says, leaning down to James, “they gave me something I needed at a time when I’d never needed it more, showed me things I needed showing, provided me with things I needed providing - I hadn’t been hugged for two years, not properly, when those two showed up. Sam can attest to it even if he doesn’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I know it helped you a lot.”

“You wanna talk to them about it, I’m not about to stop you. We’re all adults, and I’ve got nothing against it. Curiosity doesn’t hurt, not for things like this. We’ll talk about it later if you want.”

James nods his enthusiasm. Oh yes, he wants. 

“For now, cool it, all’a’ya,” Sam says, and they mostly do, aside from Clint, who gets a couple more ‘subtle’ jokes in.

~

By the time Steve finishes his second hot dog, everyone else seems to have given up, stuffed. James certainly is. He’s leaning against the head of the sun lounger while his stomach protests. He and Wanda have glasses of whatever’s in the jug of juice - some sort of virgin tequila sunrise.

“So, a sunrise?” James says, and Steve rolls his eyes and jabs James in the leg with his toe.

“Smartass,” he says. 

“You like it anyway,” James answers.

But there’s no way James has the room to finish what’s in his glass. 

Steve has a beer even though it doesn’t do anything for him. Sam already has one and Clint, somehow, fills up his nearly-empty mason jar when nobody’s looking.

So when Steve gets up for a second burger (wait, no, his third, they’ve been talking long enough and he was alternating,) it’s not as much of a surprise as it might have been when Clint somehow pulls out a deck of cards. 

“Oh nice,” Steve says, scratching the stubble that’s grown on his jaw since they arrived. “What are we playing?”

“Blackjack?” Clint says.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“No,” Sam answers.

Wanda laughs.

“I’ll teach you how to play Crna Dama,” she says, taking the cards from Clint - what are they, laminated? Was he in the pool with those? And then she leans down to James. “Steve likes to count cards.”

“I do not!” he says. “I do it by accident!”

“Accident schmaccident,” Sam mutters.

“This the guy who swears he don’t do math when he’s throwing a giant metal disc-” Clint says.

“Hey!” Steve says, indignant. “Of course it’s math, I’m just not doing it on purpose. I just look at shit and know where to throw.”

James leans forward.

“Does he do that thing with you where he pretends he can’t cook-”

“Listen, you,” Steve says, pointing at James. 

“Hey, wait,” Clint says, “you think insultin’ him’s gonna stop him making food for us?”

“That depends,” James stage-whispers. “Think a new game’ll keep him from countin’?” 

“How about poker?” Steve says, poking James in that special little place in his side that makes him bend double sideways with a squawk.

“How about go fish?” he answers when he’s recovered, shoves at the front of Steve’s chair with his foot.

Steve flails a little as his chair moves, gives James a look but then, like slow motion, his whole body jerks, sunglasses slipping down to show suddenly-wide eyes as he swipes a hand out to grab for the table, knees coming up high, almost to his chest. He clips the edge of the table - and the jug and glasses and plates shift around with a clatter - but he doesn’t get any purchase, and then sort of just— 

“Oh god,” James manages.

— topples over backwards, feet suddenly where his head was, and then a large amount of water appearing in roughly the space he was occupying.

Sam, okay, Sam pretty much _screams_ with laughter after the first few seconds of stunned silence between them, while James and Wanda are on their feet immediately. Clint doesn’t appear too fazed by the whole ordeal, but he does look interested as he takes another drink.

Steve surfaces almost straightaway, shoving his hair back off his head as he splutters water out of his mouth, pinching his nose as he shakes his head. He picks up his sunglasses next, which are just starting to sink.

“Steve,” James says dejectedly, and Steve looks up at him, sopping wet, as James winces. “Sorry.”

He’s up to his chest in water and appears surprised, rather than annoyed, by the whole thing, and he’s in trunks and a shirt so like, that’s the whole point, right? That’s like…swimming clothes, right?

Sam’s still laughing, and Wanda’s started.

“Well,” she says, “what’s a party by the pool without a swim?”

She unties her kaftan and sweeps her hat off her head, and Steve gives James a wry, knowing smile and then begins to wade over to the steps as Wanda gets in. Clint shrugs and puts his jar on the side while he fishes about for his pizza slice, which is slowly drifting since the disturbance in the water.

Steve gets all the way to the other end of the pool and then James kind of just watches him walk up the stairs, trunks wet but t-shirt transparent, and the muscles in his back are gorgeous enough but then he turns around and James’ mouth goes dry.

Steve wet and naked in the shower or a pool is one thing, Steve in form-fitting clothes is another. But Steve in a wet t-shirt? Lines of white fabric, where it doesn’t cling, criss-cross his body, but also define every muscle he’s got. He turns around and the smooth peach of his skin is highlighted in blocks - abs, pecs, lats, his collar bone - his abdomen is like a greek column - lines and angles, thick, like it’s hewn from marble. He looks like one of those men in the books you can buy from the top shelf of book-stores. Art, but a certain kind of art - photographed professionally, posed artfully, and then doused in water or slicked up with oil, a sly look to camera and a carefully-placed vase. Books called things like ‘Touch’ or ‘Sunday Morning Guys’ or ‘Males in Love.’ 

James does his best not to think _‘y’know, that really hot gay stuff’_ but it’s difficult when Steve’s nipples are visible through his shirt.

“You have a choice,” Steve says, water streaming from his clothes, hair slicked down to his skull and yet somehow still attractive. “Either you go in or I put you in.”

Sam’s still laughing.

“You can put me in,” James says, smiling, and he puts his hands up - _I surrender._ “I deserve it.”

Steve comes all the way over, dark footprints on the terracotta edging tiles, draws James close and takes the Ray-Bans off his face to put them down on the table. Then he kisses him, deep and slow, and pulls back to say,

“Deep breath,” waiting for James to take one before shoving him sideways into the pool.

When James surfaces, laughing, Steve has actually got Sam Wilson in a fireman’s carry.

“Man, your boy got a choice!”

“My boy said sorry.”

“Sorry?” Sam says. “Sorry!”

But he’s actually airborne by that point because Steve, the supersoldier, jumps in while he’s still holding Sam aloft, and together they make enough of a wave that it slops up over James’ face. 

~

Steve strips off his shirt before they leave and wrings it out into the pool, unsticking his tags from his chest with a pluck, ignoring them when they slap back and stick again. James kind of self-consciously starts doing the same without taking his off, tugging the fabric to one side, before Steve stands next to him with the dressing gown open.

“Here,” he says quietly, “you can take that off and wear this.”

Which James does, while Steve holds the dressing gown up like a screen. He helps him get into it, too, and then he wrings James’ shirt out while James ties the robe closed.

He towels his hair dry, too, and then hugs Sam, before he kisses Clint and Wanda on the cheek.

“It was nice to meet you, James!” Wanda says as they leave, Steve carrying the empty jug and platter, and James waves.

She looks at him like he’s lost his mind and comes over to hug them both instead.

“It’s wonderful that you’ve found each other,” she says, to both of them.

“Thank you,” Steve says, his voice low, gentle.

James can tell it means a lot to him.

“And we’ll see you soon, yes?” she says. “It’s been lovely.”

“Yeah, good seein’ you, man,” Sam says. 

“I want his number!” Clint yells after them, and Steve chuckles as they make their way back to the elevator.

“You got your sunglasses?” Steve asks him.

“Yeah, do you want them back?”

“They’re your sunglasses,” Steve answers, leaving James standing in the middle of a fake rain forest with a pair of Ray-Bans in his hand until his brain catches up and tells him to move his feet. 

“But they’re Ray-Bans!” James says.

“And I got these,” Steve answers, turning back to show James his blue aviators. “What do I need Ray-Bans for?”

~

They are all the way back at Steve’s apartment, Steve opening his front door, when James finally can’t hold on to his excitement any longer.

“You’re gonna tell me all about it,” he says, “right?”

Steve puts the platter and the jug down on the breakfast island, turns around and sets his hands on his hips and wow his waist is so small.

“How about I make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know as long as it pertains to me.”

James frowns.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, “ Steve says, “I’ll tell you what I like, but I’m not telling you anything about what they like. You know? It’d be rude-”

“Oh my God, no, that’s fine,” James says, coming to stand with Steve. “I don’t want any of that, no. I mean, it’s you I’m interested in.”

“A-huh,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around James as he looks down at him. “So go on then, ask me anything.”

James chews his lip, looks at Steve’s bare chest, bisected by the chain, which is all very nice to look at, and says,

“What was your favorite thing?”

Steve smiles down at him.

“They used to put me in the middle if I’d been really good,” he says, swaying them both slightly. “Get at me from both sides. Pretty sure it’s my favorite thing in the world to do with two people. I mean, I’m a switch, so why not both, you know?”

James can picture it, can-

Wait-

“So,” James says, “sorry and…I mean, if this counts as not you, that’s okay, but like, which…of the…did, you, were you a top-” okay this is more difficult than he thought to arrange into the correct order. 

“They both topped me,” Steve says. “There was other stuff but as far as which was where, it varied. I said to you before my ex didn’t like to do some of the things I liked to do. I’ve always liked pitchin’ _and_ catchin’, and they…they were very, very skilled at being attentive, letting me - or giving me - the opportunity to do both. I needed certain things I wasn’t getting from the rest of my interpersonal relationships, y’know? I meant what I said, nobody’d just held onto me for so long. And then one day they asked why I wasn’t going out there and gettin’ some if I needed some so obviously. I said I needed an emotional connection but I wasn’t ready for another romantic relationship, and they asked me if I classified emotional as exclusively romantic.”

“Ah, so like, you weren’t ready for romance but- Are you demi?”

“I am, for the most part,” Steve says. “You were my exception, but only temporarily.”

“So it was like, they were good enough friends that you could turn to them for no-strings-attatched?”

“Exactly,” Steve says. “And they’re trained field agents. You’re never gonna find someone who can better read a person than they can - put them together and I barely ever had to ask for anything.”

James stares up at him, shakes his head slowly in amazement. 

“But so,” he says, “okay, so if that’s your favorite to do with both of them, what was your favorite to do with one of them?”

Steve tilts his head, thinks about it.

“I mean, there was a bunch of stuff,” he says. “Sometimes they’d both be there but one wouldn’t participate. I liked that a lot, that whole…supervision thing. And they could get pretty…” he narrows his eyes, searching for the word. “I don’t want to say extreme,” he says eventually, “or vicious. But some days I needed control more than other days.”

“Oh?” James says.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “If you’re really interested, we can go to the conversion tomorrow and I’ll show you here tonight.”

James feels his eyebrows go up. 

“And you can’t at the conversion?”

“Well, firstly,” Steve says, “the things anchored in the walls here are anchored by StarkTech and reinforced. And secondly,” and here he leans down to bring his mouth to James’ ear - James could blame the resulting shiver on having wet hair and clothes, but he knows it’d be a lie, “secondly,” and his hand pressed more firmly against James’ back, his body more tightly against James’ front, “we really should get started now. I mean, it can take _hours._ ”

James nods.

“Yeah,” he says, wetting his lips as his breaths grow shorter. “I think I can get behind that idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Shine for figuring out I meant "Dismay"
> 
> Would anybody be interested if I linked a timeline of these stories on my tumblr? I know I haven't been naming specific dates in the fics but I have them, if anyone would be interested. Let me know! Also, anybody interested in seeing at some point in the future what Steve used to get up to with Nat and Clint?
> 
>  
> 
>  **Spoiler alert:** If you'd like to know the dates in this series, here's [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) of the first ten parts, with a short summary of each part. **Spoilers for parts 1-10, though.**


End file.
